


Conventional Weapons

by Kayteebr



Category: Frank Iero and the Patience, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Death, Double Life, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Gun Violence, Heavy BDSM, Killing, Knives, M/M, Murder, Painplay, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-10-23 13:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 16,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayteebr/pseuds/Kayteebr
Summary: Nothing compares, you know. Not cigarettes or alcohol, not pot or crack or any drug under the sun (and trust me, I’ve tried them all), not even the best fuck in the world.Look, I’m not recommending you try it or anything; I’m just making my case here. Some people smoke, buy hookers, you know? I kill people. That’s my thing.





	1. Chapter 1

God, it really was stunning, he thought aloud as he watched the crimson fluid flow through the gutter and into the storm drain. The color was positively indescribable, and the smell, oh my god the _smell_. Fucking exhilarating.  
  
**Nothing compares, you know. Not cigarettes or alcohol, not pot or crack or any drug under the sun (and trust me, I’ve tried them all), not even the best fuck in the world.  
** **Look, I’m not recommending you try it or anything; I’m just making my case here. Some people smoke, buy hookers, you know? I kill people. That’s my thing.  
** **Don’t fucking make that face. I can see it even as you hide behind this page. Everyone makes _that_ face.  
** **It’s not like I go around killing innocent people or kids or whatever. I’m like fucking Robin Hood.  
** **I’m not that different from you, I bet. My name’s Frank (pretty plain for a serial killer, right?) I’m 27, I have an apartment and bills **and shit, a job, you know...normal people stuff. I have a hobby that I guess you could consider _taboo_ , sure, but I bet you **have a hobby.  
** **** **I bet you fucking knit or some shit.  
**   
Frank scoffed and kicked the lifeless body with his boot to ensure it was, without a doubt, void of any life before wiping the blade off with a dirty cloth pulled from his pocket. He took a few more moments to inhale the scene around him before pulling on fresh pair of latex gloves.  
The enjoyable part was over, and he was slowly coming down from his high. He groaned.  
  
All of the bodies Frank had ever disposed of were discovered, and that was no accident on his part. Frank wasn’t hiding his crimes, only that is was he who had committed them.  
Each figure was discovered in the arrangement Frank saw fit, and this would be no exception.  
For a man of short stature, Frank’s strength was always grossly underestimated. Years of dragging corpses through alleyways, upstairs and into gullies had made Frank solid and resilient. Something that could only come from experience; Frank swore no gym would provide a workout quite as intense.  
  
He was dragging the body through the grass now, the man’s suit riding up and exposing his pale midsection, flush with knife wounds that made Frank beam. This had been a quite enjoyable kill, indeed.  
It wasn’t far that he had to struggle with the body; the difficult part came in the form of getting the 200 pounds of flesh into the dumpster once he reached the destination.  
  
_‘Sorry, man, but you won’t be needing these anymore.’_ Frank commented as he undid the man’s pants. It took a moment for Frank to place the knife in a position he was satisfied with, but once he was it was only a swift snap of his wrist the man’s genitals were on the ground in between his legs.  
He heaved the corpse onto his shoulders, a move only learned from trial and error, and shoved it into the empty dumpster with a thud, the genitals left what would look carelessly on the ground, though was actually a premeditated and well planned move.  
  
See, Frank liked to make a statement with his killing, if you couldn’t tell.  
Frank didn’t just kill to kill, though he would be lying if he said he didn’t love every second of it. Frank took pride in his effort, in making every detail flawless.  
He stood back and studied his work, the detached reproductive organs lain in a bloody pool on the concrete, a petrifying gesture that would surely caution whatever unsuspecting motherfucker found the owner of said genitalia’s body in the dumpster.  
Said caution to be the following - _you don’t fucking rape children_.  
  
**See? Just like fucking Robin Hood.**


	2. Chapter 2

Frank’s apartment wasn’t anything remarkable; a simple floorplan, one bedroom, one bathroom in a small suburb of New Jersey. It was inconspicuous, Frank figured, and that was its main attraction for the serial killer.

He had blackout curtains adorning most windows to block out the light so that he could sleep uninterrupted. The majority of his sleeping was done in the early morning hours, as you can imagine. Frank liked his apartment dim, ominous, like himself.

There was minimal furniture, homage to the fact that Frank rarely used much other than the bed, toilet and shower. He simply didn’t have time, what with working a regular job to keep up appearances and fund his hobby, and the majority of his free time spent pillaging in the shadows.

Everything in his apartment yelled _’normal’ _to the naked eye, but it was all deliberate and done so very much purposefully.__  
The only odd thing you would find in Frank’s apartment from time to time would be the plastic wrap lining the carpet in a careful runway from the front door to the bathroom. Frank would set it out carefully before leaving at dusk.  
He couldn’t track blood on the floor now, could he?

**I’m not a stupid criminal, you know. When you’ve been doing this as long as I have, you learn some tricks of the trade.**

****  
**Plastic floor covering, the kind that professional painters buy is imperative to keeping my floor clean. If pigs come snooping around, the last god damn thing I need is a carpet stained with blood.**

****  
**Bleach. Lots of it. It’s a killer’s best friend. You get used to the smell, trust me. I use it to clean my tools; knives and the like. I also wash my hands with it thoroughly before I leave and as soon as I get home. It keeps fingerprints off the gloves I put on, and washes off any bodily fluids that could have gotten in.**

****  
**In particularly _messy_ killings, sometimes I even shower with bleach.**

****  
**See these boots I’m wearing? They’re a size 13, steel toe. I’ve got tissue paper and a rock shoved in the toe, too. It makes the footprints look bigger, not that I ever leave any, but better safe than sorry.**

****  
**Yeah, the rock is necessary, and no, it’s not fucking comfortable. But, see, if there isn’t any weight in the front of the shoe the pigs can tell that the shoe that made the prints wasn’t the right size; there was no pressure in the footstep.**

****  
**Imagine an ink stamp. If you only press down on half of it, only half of it will show up. You have to apply even pressure to get a complete imprint. It’s the same with footprints.**

****  
**It’s like, physics or whatever.**

****

Frank stepped under the near-scalding water, scrubbing at his skin roughly to rid himself of the night’s slog, dried blood flaking off his skin and undulating down the drain.

Frank was usually fairly careful to minimize the amount of gore that landed on him, but this particular gentleman had tried fend Frank off; tried to wrap his portly fingers around Frank’s neck. This only egged Frank on; he loved a fighter.

The man had managed to press himself up against Frank, smearing his crimson blood on the shorter man’s torso and arms. This amused Frank, and he stabbed him again – and again, and again, until he was nothing but a lifeless corpse lying in his own filth, leaving Frank to leer over his dead form.

He was almost sad to wash the remnants of the crime off his body, but exhaustion was overtaking him, and if he didn’t finish up quickly it would be impossible for him to wake up for work in a few hours. Keeping up appearances included working the day after a murder, no matter how fatigued and sore his body was.

By the time Frank slinked into bed, it was near 4AM. He set his alarm for 8AM and shut his eyes tightly, sleep enveloping him easily.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey, Frank.”

“Hey, Bob.” Frank muttered, weariness showing in his voice. He sauntered on to the work site, still drowsy but determined to make it through the day without question.

It was hot today, remarkably so for April, with little cloud cover to shield Frank from the sun. The fact that Frank was on his second cup of coffee wasn’t helping him keep cool either. But, if Frank was going to do hard labor, he needed to be fully awake, no matter how much his body protested.

They were paving a residential road today, a job they had started about a week ago. Frank and Bob had spent three days with the rest of the crew tearing up the old concrete and setting down stones to level the ground which had been eroded away from years of cold winters and salting.

Frank knew he would be covered in tar and asphalt by the time he ended his shift, his hair would be matted down with dust and his forehead covered in sweat. Working construction wasn’t a job for the weak, he knew this. Frank was a short man, only about 5”6, but his strength wasn’t something to be underestimated, both on the job, and off of it.

His job helped to both keep him fit, and provide an alibi for where a majority of his time was spent. It paid well, well enough that Frank could live comfortably and fund his ‘hobby’. Enough that he could buy the materials he needed, when he needed them.

It wasn’t what Frank thought he would grow up to have, but he was content, nonetheless.

It was around 1:00PM while Frank was eating lunch with Bob in his truck, the local radio on as background noise and the air conditioning on full blast that he heard it.

_’And in other news, Charles Gardener, a local businessman who was tried for and eventually acquitted of the brutal rape of his neighbors daughter, was found dead this morning behind Sun Valley Day Care in Belleville, in what is suspected to be homicide. In December, Gardener was acquitted of the first degree rape and beating of a nine year old child despite mounting evidence in what was considered to be a publicly outrageous verdict. You’ll recall that Sun Valley Day Care is the same location that the child was abducted from on June 13th of last year at the time the crime was committed. No word on the exact cause of death, but stay tuned and we’ll bring you updates as they come available. Unusually warm weather today…’_

The voice on the radio trailed off and Frank lost interest, but a smirk was playing on his lips as slyly as possible, going unseen by Bob.

“Fuckin’ crazy man.” Bob remarked through bites of his sandwich, so innocent – so unaware. “Dead rapist behind a daycare; that’s some kind of poetic justice.”

Frank nodded in agreement. “Mmm.”

“Guy had it coming though; doubt they’re going to look real hard for his killer. Shit, I bet it was the girls’ dad or something.” Bob continued.

Frank chuckled, amused by his coworkers response to the situation. It did feel nice for his work to be validated occasionally, even though he didn’t need the reassurance to know what he was doing was for the greater good. He balled up his paper bag, brushing his shirt off for crumbs and opened the door to the truck.

“I’m going to head back out.” Frank said before exiting the truck. “Oh, and when you get back to the office, could you order me another box of latex gloves? I’m getting low.”

Bob nodded, his mouth full of deli meat and cheap white bread. “You go through them things like water.”

Frank gave him a thumbs up and shut the door behind him, he was going to have a good afternoon.


	4. Chapter 4

Frank was watching the news in his living room, a seemingly quiet night in. He mostly only watched the news, sometimes true crime shows – you could never have too many tips and tricks up your sleeve.

There hadn’t been anything to peak his interest in the past few days; no scumbags to scope out at the moment. He would wait for the perfect person – that one individual that truly, undoubtedly deserved to be offed.

He never had to wait long, a few weeks at most. The city was crawling with degenerates that would steal, pillage, rape and murder to get their ill-gotten gains. For as enjoyable as Frank found killing, he took pride in only murdering those that had it coming to them, and there was certainly no shortage of those people in this town.

Frank did relish these quite nights at home though, those nights where he didn’t have to worry about countless amounts of research – where his victim would be and when; that sort of thing.

**Did you really think that I just picked people off of the street? Do you have no faith in me?**

****  
**I told you, I only kill people that deserve it. You heard about the last guy, Gardener. He was a fucking sick-o, you know that now.**

****  
**I do _a lot_ of fucking research, ok? I always start by watching the news, reading the papers, finding that one particular creature that has been running from their crimes for too long.**

****  
**There’s a lot of prep work in what I do too, plenty of internet research and sometimes even in person-spying. You have to be stealthy – surreptitious, if you will. I’m no two-bit hack, if you haven’t gotten the picture yet.**

****  
**Don’t worry, you’ll grow to love me in time.**

****

 

****

 

****

Frank was mindlessly staring at the screen in front of him, only nearing 8PM and he was dozing off already. It was nice, he thought, maybe he would get some extra rest – god knows he could use it.

But, there was a banging from outside of his apartment, something resembling a body falling down a flight of stairs; again something only Frank would be able to distinguish.

He ignored it, shutting his eyes and readjusting so that he was comfortable on the couch when he heard it again, this time followed by a high pitched giggle and someone, clearly not the same person, shouting their displeasure in the other person’s couch carrying ability.

He huffed out an exasperated sigh and turned up the volume on the television. He was in a good mood, and he wanted to remain in such.

There was shuffling out front still, the sound of unfamiliar heavy footsteps in the usually quiet hallway. Frank was surrounded by two unoccupied apartments, and one vertical to him that housed an elderly lady that left only for church on Sunday’s.

He narrowed his eyes and tentatively lifted himself off of the couch, heading for the door. The footsteps were still plowing heavily up and down the stairs, in and out of doors. Frank was getting irritated.

He pulled the door open and stepped out, eye darting from left to right only to find an empty hallway above and empty set of stairs. Just as he went to walk back inside and shut the door, he heard stomping making its way back up the stairwell.

Frank waited at his door, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, for whomever these people were that thought it acceptable to pound the ground into a pulp as they invaded the building.

Two figures, both upper bodies covered by brown boxes appeared at the top of the stairs, neither noticing Frank as they passed by. Frank waited, watching them angrily as they opened the door to the apartment next door, walking in with the boxes and allowing it to slam behind them.

A moment later, they re-appeared, panting and empty handed. One of them made awkward eye contact with Frank who had to be positively steaming at this point, face red and smoke coming from the ears if possible.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. They told us that it was mostly vacant up here. We uh, dropped the couch earlier.” The shorter one said, grinning slightly. The taller of the two shrugged and leapt back down the stairs, Frank assumed to get more boxes. Great, new neighbors. New _loud_ neighbors, he thought.

“Well it’s not, I fucking live here. And Mrs. Edelman lives over there, and she’s like fucking a thousand, so maybe tone it down a notch.” Frank spat angrily.

The man shifted uncomfortably on his feet and made a pained face. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, moving and all. I’m Gerard.” He stuck his hand out, expecting Frank to shake it, but he ignored him.

“Whatever. Just be fucking quiet, Gerald.” Frank replied as he turned away from the man and slammed the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Frank was pleasantly surprised to notice that Gerald did, in fact, _shut the fuck up_.

He hadn’t heard a peep from the apartment since the day he moved in; to be honest Frank wasn’t even sure if he was in the apartment at all.

Not that he cared, no Frank didn’t care at all about the noisy, inconsiderate neighbor, even if he did have the brightest hazel eyes he had ever seen.

He was currently too involved into an internet search on a known man that was scowling the city and assaulting women that were walking alone at night. He had assaulted three women in the same eight mile radius just this past week, and the police were doing just a spectacularly awful job of tracking him down.

And of course, that’s where Frank comes in.

He had been evading police for days now, slipping right through the cracks when they got near. Each victim had personally identified him as the suspect, and there was no doubt in Frank’s mind that if this was the guy, he would track him down – and he would kill him.

**This part is _almost_ as fun as the actual murder.**

****  
**Right now I’m about seven months deep in this sleezeball’s Instagram. Social media is a lot more telling than you know. I can tell a lot about this guy from just a few pictures.**

****  
**For instance, he has multiple pictures of women that were unaware he was even taking their photograph. A creeper, if you will.**

****  
**Not to mention some of the comments on his Facebook page. My personal favorite is** _’mmm, that girl sure looks juicy; bet she likes to be abused a little.’_   
**Sounds like a really nice guy, no?**

****  
**Anyway, my point is this – don’t be a fucking idiot on social media, because I know where this guy works, lives, who he associates with, his family, what car he drives. Everything. The scariest part is that it took me all of about twenty minutes.**

****  
**So yeah, I’m going to find him, and I’m going to murder him like the pig he is.**

****

It didn’t take long for Frank to gather all of the information that he needed to make this a clean cut homicide, less time than usual actually, and for that he was grateful.

It would still be a few days before Frank went in for the kill, however. He always needed to prepare himself, mentally as well as physically. And now Frank was left with a Saturday afternoon completely free, a rare occurrence for the murderer,

He pondered what to do with himself, pacing the carpeted floor of his living room a few times before grabbing his keys and heading for the door.

Maybe he would just drive around a bit and enjoy the day, maybe something would peak his interest and he would find some type of activity to keep him occupied.

His thoughts were cut off, however, as he ran face first into his new neighbor at the top of the stairs. The bags he was carrying flew out of his grip and landed all over the landing.

“What the fuck.” Frank uttered automatically.

“Shit I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” His neighbor replied, picking up the discarded groceries from the ground.

Frank grumbled and bent down to help him re-pack the items. “It’s ok.” He muttered. “Let me help you.”

Frank was not a generous person, mind you. He figured that all of his generosity went into the public service of killing degenerates. That left little to no room for Frank to be pleasant with anyone, not to mention offering his assistance or for idle conversation.

But, he had nothing to do this afternoon, and a few minutes spent making nice with the pretty new neighbor couldn’t hurt.

Frank allowed him to lead him into the adjacent apartment. It was fairly bare, though not so much as Frank’s – it did look like someone did most of their living in there. There were still boxes littering the floor, lining the wall and scattered on counters.

“Thank you so much.” He commented, taking the bag from Frank. “Listen, I’m really sorry for the other day. My brother and I had to move everything in by ourselves, we’re both pretty clumsy.” He chuckled lightly.

“It’s cool. I was just tired, I probably shouldn’t have snapped at you.” Frank said, shrugging it off.

“Awesome. So, how long have you been living here, Frank?” Gerard asked, moving a few boxes off of the couch, Frank assumed to make room for him to sit. He remained standing awkwardly despite this.

“A while.” He said simply.

“Oh.” Gerard seemed to get the hint; Frank wasn’t one for sharing, or interested in talking at all really. “Well, thanks again.” He said with a sigh.

“Sure.” Frank replied, and headed for the door. He had done his good deed for the day. “I’ll see you around, Gerald.”

“It’s Gerard!” He called after Frank as he shut the door behind him.  
Frank heard him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: VERY GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE.
> 
> enjoy :)

Frank’s mother told him never to play with his food, but sometimes it was just too much fun to pass up. There was really no doubt now, this was his guy – and Frank had even caught him in the act.

He was behind a brick wall at the moment, somewhere about 20 miles south of Belleville, on a college campus. Frank had been following him, tracking him for days. He knew this guy wouldn’t last long, even with the cops on his trail. He would have to strike again.

And dumb does as dumb is, and here he was, at 10:07PM on a Wednesday night, creeping around the freshman dorm of the University.

It didn’t take him long, about 20 minutes or so to start following a young girl, what most would consider attractive. Petite, blonde, the quiet type. Better even so; alone.

Frank watched from behind the wall as the man trailed her from a few feet behind, being careful not to make much sound as his footsteps hit the ground. Her headphones were doing a spectacular job of keeping her oblivious.

Just as the man pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and dripped a clear liquid onto it, Frank darted out behind him. The man grasped for the girls neck, ready to place the cloth over her mouth, but the blunt head of a bat on his skull cut his movement short.

The girl carried on, walking forward ever more, ignorant to her potential attacker knocked unconscious and bleeding behind her, her savior dragging him off into the grass.

He wasn’t dead yet, Frank knew that, and he relished it. He needed to get him to a quieter area, somewhere safe and secluded. He had scoped out an underground parking structure a few days earlier. The lowest level seemed to be rarely used and dimly lit, no security cameras in sight.

The man was much lighter than Frank’s last victim, Frank assumed he was overcompensating for something by attacking innocent women. It was easy to drag his limp body down into the structure, laying him flatly on the concrete.

It took him just a few moments to tie his legs together. His arms were tied stiffly to his body as well, tightly in front of him with only his hands free at either side.

The heel of Frank’s boot met the man’s cheek, hard enough to make him sputter awake, but light enough to keep him from going into a deeper unconsciousness.

“What the fuck…” He uttered out, blood dripping down his forehead as he attempted to sit up. Frank easily forced him back into a laying position with a boot on his chest.  
“Nuh-uh.” Frank said with a shake of his head. He tsk’d at him, seemingly considering something. The man just lie there, confused and bleeding as Frank carefully pulled out a pair of latex gloves and slipped them on in silence.

“Let me go, please…” He muttered. He was terrified, Frank was sure. Even the sleaziest of criminals were crying in the end, begging for their lives. It wasn’t true remorse though, no, Frank knew that. They just wanted to be spared, to live another day. Frank couldn’t grant them that.

“Shhh.” Frank cooed. “Quiet now.” His voice was almost calming, sweet. He knelt down next to the man who was shaking now, in a half lying, half sitting position that Frank knew the man thought was absolute misery. He didn’t know true misery though, not yet.

“Please…” The man begged quieter now and Frank only shook his head. He had a small knife in his hand now, only about five inches long, but sharp nonetheless.

“Do you know why you’re here Jesse?” Frank asked calmly.

The man, Jesse, shook his head fervently. “How do you know my name?”

“That wasn’t the question, Jesse. Do you know why you’re here?”

Jesse shook his head again, tears streaming down his face. Frank sighed and sat a bit more comfortably, cross-legged at Jesse’s side. “Well allow me to elaborate. Do you remember a woman named Michele?”

Again, Jesse shook his head.

“How about Laura? Marianne? Tina?” Frank continued.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The man shrieked and Frank made a face. He was angry, that was much too loud and though Frank wanted to ask him farther questions, he would have to gag him now and move on.

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all to you very soon.” Frank commented as he shoved the same chemical ridden rag that was initially meant for an innocent student into the man’s mouth. He tied rope around his head, ensuring it stayed firmly in place inside of his mouth.

“You went after Laura first.” Frank said as he took position next to Jesse, this time taking a hold of his left hand. Jesse whined in protest when Frank placed the blade of the knife on the pad of his pinky finger. “She was only 17 you know, still in high school.” Frank began to press the blade into his skin, just under the tip of his dirty fingernail, crimson red dripping out slowly.

“You followed her to school and grabbed her about a block away. You groped her, touched her in ways she didn’t want to be touched. You violated her.” Frank continued, the knife slicing deeper into his skin, down into his fingerprints, past his nailbed and towards his palm. Jesse tried to scream, but failed.

“You saw Marianne on a hiking trail not far from where you attacked Laura. You waited until she was in a secluded area of the forest, coming up behind her and cutting off her airway. While she was passed out you stripped her and desecrated her.” Frank sighed as the blade cut through Jesse’s skin, slicing the tip of his pink off completely. Jesse wailed in pain.

“Next was Tina, you snatched her when she was walking home from work late at night. She screamed but you gagged her, you ripped her clothes off and touched her.” Frank moved on to his ring finger, slicing the pad off in one quick motion this time.

Jesse continued to whine and moan, writhing on the ground, tears flowing freely from his eyes as Frank moved from finger to finger, telling story after story of his heinous crimes. How Jesse had attacked and molested each woman, a sliced finger for each.

It took a while, longer than usual for Frank’s killings, but after about an hour Jesse’s fingers were obliterated, cut off in a sick poetic justice. Frank placed the edge of the knife on Jesse’s throat now, digging in just slightly.

“Jesse, you should know better than to touch things that aren’t yours.” Frank commented with a shrug. Jesse nodded in agreement, silently praying that Frank would spare his life. Frank assumed he would swear that he would change his ways, move away and never come back. He was sure Jesse would say anything to save his life.

But, Frank just couldn’t let that happen. Jesse was scum and he had to be offed. With a smug smile, Frank sliced into his neck with a flick of his wrist. Jesse gurgled and choked, but in the end it took only a moment for him to finally pass on. Frank sighed in contentment.

He had a mess to clean now, fingerprints of his own to wipe clean, footprints to erase. He really should be less messy when killing, but he couldn’t help it.

Sometimes Frank just liked to play with his food.


	7. Chapter 7

It was well into the middle of the night, and all Frank could think about was his bed as he trudged up the stairs. He wasn’t covered in a staggering amount of blood, surprisingly, just a few splotches on his hands and the areas of skin not covered by black fabric. It had taken a good hour to ensure that the area was clear of any trace of Frank; when the cops showed up he was confident that it would look as if that guy’s fingers had sliced themselves off.

He had at least pre-planned for this to be on a Friday, and he had the weekend to recuperate. His fingers ached from clutching the knife, his legs burned from dragging the body into the parking structure, and his toes rubbed angrily against the rock in the toe of his boots.

With every step he took up the stairs to his apartment, Frank became more and more exhausted. It was easy to forget that carrying the pocket knife at his side, out in the open even if closed; as he approached the third floor probably wasn’t the best idea. The floor was empty, Frank was sure of it. It had been for the past two years, aside from Mrs. Edelman. But she was nearly blind, so it wasn’t a concern.

Yes, he trudged up the stairs, and yes he complained loudly as he fumbled for and promptly dropped his keys, but he didn’t expect the apartment door next to his to open in question, a mop of messy black hair poking out and searching in his direction.

“Frank?”

Frank was bending down, one hand reaching for his keys on the floor, the other loosely holding the knife when Gerard spotted him. He gripped the knife tighter in his right hand, ready to open it at any moment, and stood up straight quickly, almost falling over from exhaustion and the head rush.

“Are you alright?” Gerard asked concernedly, stepping through the doorway. He looked tired, like he had been woken up from his sleep. His hair was in sleep worn chaos, yet somehow suited him perfectly. His Star Wars pajama pants were almost laughable, though Frank was far too concerned with the blood on his clothes and knife in his hand to make light of the situation.

“Fine. Yeah, fine.” He uttered quickly, holding the knife close to his side, praying silently that it would blend in with his clothes and go unnoticed.

Gerard stepped closer and plucked Frank’s discarded keys off of the floor, reaching an arm out for Frank to take them. Frank just kind of stood there, unsure what to do with himself until Gerard made a face at him.

He stuck out his left hand and snatched the keys quickly, but Gerard didn’t turn and walk away as expected. So, Frank did what he wanted to in the first place, and unlocked the door.

“Thanks.” He muttered, cracking the door open just wide enough for him to slide into.

Gerard wasn’t quite finished though, concerned as to why Frank looked heavily disheveled and worn out. “Hey, wait. Frank…” He questioned, placing his hand on the door frame. “You don’t look so good. What happened?”  
Frank grumbled in the threshold, the half shut door revealing only part of his face. “Just, uh. Long story.” He answered and placed his hand on the doorknob, silently telling Gerard it was time to go home. Maybe he was thick headed, or maybe he was just nosey, Frank didn’t care. But, he did need this to be over, and soon.

Gerard shifted on his feet, hand falling away from the door frame when his eye caught sight of Frank’s hand, specks of blood on the outer side of his palm; dirt under his fingernails and a bruise peeking out from the hem of his sleeve.

“…blood.” Gerard mumbled quietly and pointed to Frank’s hand.

Frank ripped it away quickly, wiping it on his pants, though it did little good at cleaning off the dried gore.

“Were you, um, attacked or something?” Gerard questioned with a cringe, though his face betrayed him. Even Frank could tell that Gerard didn’t buy that.

“Look, Gerard.” Frank sighed in frustration. “I’m fucking exhausted. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Gerard nodded silently, his face unbelievably paler than it was when he first came out of his apartment. He turned and walked into the door next to Frank’s, waving a nervous hand in goodbye as he shut it.

Frank heard the lock click tight behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

Frank hadn’t exactly considered the implications of Gerard’s little encounter the night before until he woke up in a cold sweat the next morning.

Next afternoon, rather.

He sat in his living room, in silence, his hand bandaged from the bruising. His mind was blank, mostly. One of the benefits of being a serial killer is learning how to turn your mind into an unmitigated space of nothingness.

Still, though, the thought of his nosey neighbor having any type of curiosities when it came to Frank’s hobby was creeping into his head like a black hole, sucking up every ounce of self-control that Frank had.

In the end, he lost that control and found himself pounding on Gerard’s door, his fist driving angrily into the cheap plywood.

“Gerard!” Frank shouted into the hallway.   
“Fucking hold on!” He heard Gerard shriek back, the sound of shuffling and the TV being muted inside the apartment. “Jesus Christ.” Gerard mumbled as he unlocked and opened the door slowly.

Frank pushed through it without a second thought. “We need to talk.”

Gerard folded his arms in faked nonchalance. “About?” Gerard questioned, still standing in the doorway dumfounded.

“Shut the door.” Frank demanded, and with hesitation, Gerard complied.

“Last night, when you saw me.” Frank started. He was still standing awkwardly in front of the couch, much like he had been the first time he was in Gerard’s apartment.

“I was half asleep Frank; I barely remember talking to you.” Gerard shrugged it off with a laugh. He was lying, Frank could tell and his blood was going to rise from the pit of his stomach and boil in his face if Gerard’ didn’t cut the shit _right fucking now_.

“Don’t bullshit me, Gerard, I know you remember.” Frank scowled, walking closer to Gerard. Close enough that Frank almost needed to look up at Gerard to see eye to eye with him, but Frank knew how to keep control. Frank was always in control. “I was in a bar fight.”

Gerard shook his head, and surprisingly calmly, locked eyes with Frank. “What do you want me to say Frank? That I saw you with blood on your hands? That I saw the bruise on your wrist? The knife you were holding?” Gerard narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, closing in on the distance between them.

Frank swallowed hard, he had been so careful to hold the knife out of view. There was no way Gerard could have seen it, no fucking way.

“Do you think I’m scared of you, Frank? Do you think you can come in here and try to fucking lie to me? You weren’t in a bar fight, Frank. You’re a filthy liar.” Gerard cornered Frank against the doorframe, the taller man now looking down at Frank.

He gripped the knife in his pocket, ready to pull it out should Gerard make another move. “Back the fuck up, Gerard.”

Gerard shrugged and inched away slightly, giving Frank enough room to huff out a sigh of petulance. “I don’t care what you do on your own time, Frank.” Gerard declared, eyes narrowed and locked on Frank’s angry face. He leaned in, placing his lips gently next to Frank’s ear. “But don’t fucking lie to me.” He whispered, hot breath ghosting on Frank’s neck that made him shiver.

“Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Frank stared at Gerard, red faced and flustered. Without another word, he opened Gerard’s door and rushed through it, slamming it behind him; his own door slamming momentarily after, as well.


	9. Chapter 9

Frank was pacing.

Truly, nervously, pacing.

**That fucking… _fuck!_.**

****  
**I am _not_ intimidated by him. I’m not.**

****  
**How fucking dare he, though? Where does he get off? I could fucking cut him open without a second thought!**

****  
**No…no, fuck. No. I don’t kill people that way, not like that. That’s not who I am.**

****  
**Move…I’ll have to move. Fucking, somewhere. Anywhere, away from him and his brown nosing. That dirty little fucker.**

****  
**There’s no way he could know. He can’t know.**

****  
**Research. Right, research. I can find out about him. That’s what I’ll do.**

****  
**I bet he has plenty of his own secrets. Don’t you think?**

****

Frank set a place at his computer, fingers tapping away on the keyboard. His leg was shaking, bouncing with the anxieties he felt in his chest.

_’Gerard Way…29, one brother, born and raised in New Jersey. Son of Donna and Donald Way. Graduated High School, went to community college…nothing after that.’_

Fucking nothing.

He was clean as could be. No social media, no criminal history, not even any fucking traffic tickets.

It was goddamn ridiculous, Frank thought as he paced the floor. Soon, there would be a dent in the carpet in the oval shape of Frank’s foot tracks.

He must have been scowling for hours, because it was now well past dusk and Frank was none the wiser to how much time had passed. A quick glance at the clock told him it was nearing one in the morning.

Frank pressed his ear tentatively up against the thin apartment wall. No noise from next door, Gerard must be sleeping.

Frank hadn’t heard him leave, no, he would have noticed. He would have heard the door open and in turn his blood boil. Gerard was home, and the noiselessness from a typically raucous neighbor meant Frank’s chance was likely now.

A few materials were all he needed, a pair of gloves, a credit card and a pin to pick the lock. His knife, of course.

The hallway was quiet, as usual, but eerily so tonight. Ever so lightly, Frank went to work on the lock. These apartments were old; cheap. It wouldn’t take much.

He stuck the pin into the doorknob gently, careful to be as quiet as possible, digging into the lock’s keys while subsequently sliding in the thin plastic card to unclasp the bolt.

It unlocked with a pop, allowing Frank to swing the door open, only a light squeaking sound from the rusty doorjamb filling the air.

The apartment was dark, completely so. Frank crept into the living room, keeping careful not to bump into the plethora of boxes that were still littering the place.

 _’slob’_ Frank thought.

The wallet discarded on the coffee table was Frank’s first instinct. He grabbed it with gloved fingers, undoing the snap quietly and rustling through the plastic cards for anything worthwhile.

Credit cards, driver’s license, eight dollars in cash. Useless.

The filing cabinet next to a large bookshelf was next on Frank’s list to investigate. It was filled with papers, art mostly; Frank couldn’t make out what of exactly in the darkness.

Papers, papers, papers Frank fingered through. Lost in his work, Frank became more and more exasperated as he found nothing.

Nothing incriminating, nothing interesting. Nothing even worth a second look.

Filled with frustration, Frank shut the drawer and bit his lip, holding back the scream of anger building in his throat.

 _'Fucking bastard._ ’ Frank whispered into the silence.

He was answered with the cold barrel of a gun to the back of his neck.

“Stand.”

Frank stood, his back turned to Gerard whose hand never wavered in pressing the metal barrel against the base of Frank’s skull.

“Turn around and face me. I want to see your hands. You fucking try anything and I’ll blow your brains out, got it?” Gerard commanded into Frank’s ear.

Frank took a moment to gather himself and put his hands up in surrender, turning to face Gerard with a stoic look on his face.

Frank had seen enough people beg for mercy in his time that, though he had no intention of dying tonight, should Gerard decide to cock the gun and end Frank’s life, he would be damned if he would lower himself to groveling to be spared.

No, Frank would remain passive and unconcerned, despite his heart pounding in his chest.

The base of the gun was now resting just under Frank’s chin, Gerard’s index finger on the trigger; safety off.

“You think you’re so fucking sly, Frankie.” Gerard said. It was hard to see his eyes in the dark, but from what Frank could make out they were placed directly on his own. His black pupils blown and searching.

“You won’t find anything. Look all you want, I’ve got nothing to hide.” Frank swallowed, and the gun bobbed with the motion. “I don’t know what you do, or what you’re hiding, but I can tell you right now that I don’t give a fuck.”

Frank remained expressionless, though his ruse was faltering. “Put the gun down, Gerard.” He demanded.

“Empty your pockets first.” Gerard replied, eyes shifting to Frank’s hands. Frank did as told and pulled the contents of his pockets out, discarding them on the floor. The pocket knife, the pin, the credit card, spare gloves.

“Happy?” Frank questioned, turning his pockets inside out to reveal the white fabric liner.

“Mmm…” Gerard hummed, pondering. “No, Frank I don’t think I am ‘happy’.” Gerard lowered the gun slightly, but kept it pointed towards Frank’s abdomen. “I have some questions about you that I want answered, and if I have to keep a gun pressed to your temple to get them, I will.”


	10. Chapter 10

Frank was sat uncomfortably on a wooden dining chair. He wasn’t tied down, but Gerard made it known that should Frank try to make a break for it, Gerard had no qualms about putting a bullet into his flesh. _’You did break into my home, after all.’_ he alleged.

The way Gerard was holding the pistol nonchalantly; bouncing the weight of it loosely in his palm convinced Frank well enough that he would do it, too.

“Frank.” Gerard started, coldly. “You come into our shared hallway covered in blood, carrying a knife – bruised and disheveled.” Frank nodded in understanding. “All I do is come out to help you, see if you’re alright and you repay me by burglarizing my home?”

Frank shook his head in disagreement, deciding not to open his mouth for fear of Gerard’s backlash.

“No. Let me finish, Frank.” Gerard demanded in response. “I did not, and do not care about whatever it is you do in your free time. However, since you have proven that you cannot leave well enough alone, I have no choice but to take interest in you.”

Frank sighed audibly, his teeth grindingly loudly in his jaw. “I want answers Frank. Now.”

“How do I know you’ll keep quiet? That you won’t tell anyone?” Frank questioned with a sneer.

Gerard smirked. “You don’t.”

 

 

And so for the first time, Frank told someone. He told Gerard. He told him everything.

Gerard made little to no reaction during the confession, only occasionally nodding or switching hands that the gun was resting in, periodically shifting on the couch. Aside from that, Gerard seemed utterly unfazed.

It had to have taken nearly an hour for Frank to tell the story from past to present, feeling entirely out of breath at the finish. Gerard was regarding the floor in front of him, the only movement Frank could make out in the darkness was his abdomen expanding and contracting with each breath.

“Say something.” Frank uttered into the silence.

“I don’t know what to say, Frank.” Gerard shrugged.

“Well, fuck Gerard! You’re not going to tell anyone are you?” Frank shouted.

Gerard only shook his head quietly. “No, Frank. I’m not going to tell anyone.” He said before clearing his throat. The gun shifted in his hand again making Frank recoil. Guns were never his choice of weapon, and to be honest they simply made him downright nervous.

Instead, Gerard unhocked the weapon and clicked open the barrel. He slid it across the coffee table to Frank, who only stared at it in the darkness for a few moments.

“Well go on.” Gerard required, and Frank tentatively picked up the gun to reveal an empty barrel. It was never loaded.

“You never loaded it.” Frank uttered, astounded.

“I’m not a killer, Frank.” Gerard sighed. “But you did need to be taught a lesson, and I needed answers.”

“I could get my knife off of the floor right now and stab you. Gut you like trash.” Frank spat furiously. He had fucking tricked him, made him come clean, and all the time Gerard only spoke empty threats.

Gerard shook his head and smiled. “But you won’t.”

“You don’t fucking know that. You don’t know me.” Frank bellowed.

“You’re much more obvious than you think, Frank. You wouldn’t because you’re not a killer, either.” Gerard smirked.

“Are you saying I’m lying? That you don’t believe me?” Frank questioned, standing from his seat and walking towards Gerard with exasperation.

“No, I do believe you.” Gerard stayed sitting, casually shrugging Frank off, a move that time and time again was proving to be a provocation for Frank.

He ground his teeth down crossly as Gerard continued. “You’re not a killer. You’re an assassin. An exterminator of those who deserve it. You wouldn’t kill me, Frank. You wouldn’t kill an innocent person.”

And at that Frank snapped, heaving his body on top of Gerard’s, inked fingers found their grip on Gerard’s pale throat. Through labored breath’s Gerard laughed and allowed Frank to take his control.

“You’re a fucking brat, Gerard.” Frank declared, his thumb digging into the pale skin, just over the older man’s jugular vein. He felt the pulse in his extremity, beating rapidly.

Gerard only smiled up at Frank as he cut his wind off, face turning red.

“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t fucking strangle you right here!” He shouted.

With the little strength Gerard had, he ground his hips up into Frank, a hand coming around to grip Frank’s hip. Frank faltered slightly, hand releasing Gerard’s throat and allowing him to gasp for air momentarily.

Frank hummed beside himself as Gerard continued to grind his hips up to meet Frank’s.

Releasing Gerard’s throat with a gasp from the older man, Frank shifted his grip into Gerard’s unkempt black locks, pulling backwards so that Frank could observe the angry red line on his pale gullet. There would surely be a bruise tomorrow.

Within seconds, Frank’s mouth was attached to the marked flesh, biting and sucking bruises into the area’s not marred by Frank’s hand.

Gerard moaned, hips now moving involuntarily upwards into Frank, his hands roaming the warm skin under Frank’s shirt.

“You’re a dirty, lying little fucker, Gerard.” Frank panted.

“And you’re a fucking sneaky bastard that needs to be taught that breaking and entry won’t be tolerated.” Gerard responded, fingers digging into Frank’s fleshy hips. He growled and shoved Frank over, switching positions so that Gerard was pinning Frank down.

The smirk on Gerard’s face was feral, and Frank returned the gaze as he pressed his lips to the older man.


	11. Chapter 11

Frank didn’t like to give up the control. Once he gave up control, he became insignificant; his opinions no longer mattered. Frank was useless without control, he had nothing to contribute.

There was a reason Frank didn’t have many relationships, romantic or otherwise, aside from the obvious ‘serial killer’ aspect said person would need to accept.

Frank couldn’t imagine being an equal with someone, or God forbid a lower to someone who felt the need to undermine him and take hold of the decision making.

No, Frank needed control in his life, and because of that he stayed unaccompanied, solitary.

But he had his weaknesses, and the intrusive neighbor with the strong hands and hazel eyes was rapidly becoming his downfall.

Proven so by the fact that Frank’s wrists were knotted securely behind his back, stark naked and lying flat on his stomach, sweaty curls matted to his forehead and face red stained with tears.

Frank had put up a fight; he really did, but not an honest one. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his cognizance the thought of Gerard forcing him, hurting him – controlling him, kept him intrigued and compliant.

It had been hours of torture, Frank knew this only because the dawn was rising, shining a dimly lit square on the carpet in front of the window – the only thing he could see from his spot on the bed.

He had been hit, spanked, pulled and choked, and Frank stopped complaining early on. For as soon as Gerard felt Frank’s heavy cock, leaking and aching to be touched, he knew he had him right where he wanted him.

Gerard made him beg, and it only took a half of an hour of protest from Frank and one hundred strikes of Gerard’s palm on his ass to make Frank do so.

He begged, he pleaded just to be touched. Just to be fucked.

Finally, Gerard had his cock pressing into Frank, a groan from the older man as he spread his reddened cheeks apart.

Frank sobbed, salty tears pooling onto the scratchy blanket his face laid upon. He cried from exhaustion, from submission, from pleasure and from relief.

Gerard fucked him hard and fast, slamming harder as Frank came untouched with a shout, pounding into him sore and oversensitive until he, too, came.

Frank sniveled on the mattress, coming down from the high and the pain as Gerard pulled out. Gerard gingerly untied Frank and flipped him over, gathering him into his arms as he wiped the sweat and tears from Frank’s face.

“Shhhh” Gerard cooed, rocking Frank gently. “You did so good, Frank. So fucking good.”

Frank shut his eyes and relished in the feeling of being held, of Gerard praising him and peppering light kisses on his face.

It was hard for Frank to accept, to be so completely submerged into a feeling, into an action. He was in pain, his ass stung, his wrists burned and his head ached.

But what hurt most was Frank’s heart; somewhere deep inside him he clung to the feeling of being commended after such intensity. The way Gerard’s soft hands roamed Frank’s body, so much gentler now gave him chills.

He shut his eyes tightly as Gerard shifted him farther up the bed and covered him with a thin blanket; his hands never leaving contact with Frank’s buzzing skin.

Frank heard Gerard sigh with contentment as he laid down next to Frank, uttering a final “So good for me, Frankie” and he drifted into a deep, clam sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

“Frank…”

“Frank, wake up…”

“Go away.” Frank groaned in his spot under the covers and attempted to turn over on his back, but was met with a thrashing pain that sent shockwaves up his spine. “Fuck!” He scowled and sat up.

“C ’mere” Gerard requested, his arms outstretched for him, but Frank flinched away; swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing, his face squinted in pain.

“Frank, don’t…” Gerard continued, and walked over to the side of the bed, his arms snaking around to gently grab Frank by the waist, being careful not to put any pressure on his marred back.

“Get off!” Frank yelled, pushing Gerard away. “What the fuck...Jesus Christ…”

Frank observed the room and the night began to flood back into his mind; the pain, the pleasure, the submission. “I can’t fucking believe I let you do that to me…”

Gerard backed away from Frank, to the corner of the room and observed his neighbors internal dilemma. “Frank…I just want to help you. You’re in pain, and you need aftercare.”

“Aftercare?” Frank questioned after a few silent moments. He ran a few fingertips over his sore ass, angry red lines still blooming on the skin even so many hours later.

“Yeah, you know…pain medicine, salve, a warm bath…it’s important after that kind of play.” Gerard explained casually.

Frank shook his head, confusion evident in his facial expression. “What the fuck is salve?”

“Can I?” Gerard asked, motioning forward. Frank shrugged, and so Gerard assumed it was ok to get closer.

Gerard stepped in front of Frank, his arms cautiously turning Frank around to inspect his marks. “It’s not too bad; you should feel better after a day or so with proper precaution.” Gerard turned Frank back around and smiled at him.

“What do you usually like first, a bath or food? Some people don’t like to eat for a while afterwards; sometimes the pain is too much. We should probably get some aspirin in you soon, too.” Gerard said as he handed Frank his boxers from their location discarded on the floor.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Gerard. What do you mean ‘most people’?” Frank questioned, slipping his boxers on carefully over his sore backside.

Gerard stopped then, his movements stalling, hands coming around to fold in front of him. “Have you never…you know, done this before?” He questioned.

“To be honest, Gerard, I’m not really sure what ‘this’ is.” Frank shrugged.

“Oh my god, Frank…” Gerard groaned, his hands coming up to his face, cupping around his eyes. “God, I didn’t know. I’m sorry…I would have taken it easier, fuck I never even asked you for a safe word…I…”

“Gerard, it’s fine.” Frank replied. “I don’t know what aftercare is, I don’t know what a safe word is, fuck I didn’t even know people did that, but if I didn’t want to do it I wouldn’t have let you.”

Gerard sighed. “You promise?”

“I promise.” Frank replied earnestly. “But, uh, I should probably get going.”

“Oh…” Gerard exhaled audibly.

Frank rolled his eyes internally, unsure of why he felt compelled to have any sympathy towards this man. But, for some reason he felt the need to explain himself, instead of just leaving coldly.

“It’s just; I don’t really know how to handle this. I’ve never done anything like this before…fuck, I’ve never told anyone my secret before. It’s just overwhelming, and I don’t know how to…”

Gerard cut him off with a press of his lips to Franks. “I get it.” Gerard said as he ran his fingers down Frank’s bare arms making him shiver. “But I’d like to take care of you, if you’ll let me.”

Frank observed him for a moment, his eyes to the ground. “I don’t know how.” He whispered quietly.

“That’s the best part, Frank; this is one thing that you don’t have to do yourself.” Gerard replied.

Frank nodded tentatively, a small uttered ‘ok’ coming shortly afterward, and Gerard led him to the bathroom where he drew a hot bath.

As Frank climbed in, Gerard helping him to sit carefully so as not to injure himself farther, Frank laughed to himself. Gerard furrowed his brow as he laid a towel next to the tub. “Hmmm?” He hummed in question.

“It’s just, it’s like you’re a different person.” Frank said. “From when I first met you, and the past two days…and now.”

Gerard sighed sadly. “I’m very protective of my property I guess; skeptical of people’s motives.” Gerard responded, but Frank had a feeling that wasn’t the full story.

He disregarded it for the time being; however, sinking his sore muscles farther into the water, shutting his eyes as Gerard slipped out and shut the door, leaving Frank to his bath.


	13. Chapter 13

It wasn’t easy, as Frank allowed Gerard to help him into a soft pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, taking care to avoid brushing against the bruised skin.

Frank had felt pain, being an assassin you get used to having bruises of various degrees. You become accustomed to wounds, lacerations and sometimes even the at-home suture. But, still, nothing quite prepared him for a pain like this.

This was intense, burning, as if every time Frank sat down his bruises were lit on fire and the skin was singed. It was a peculiar feeling, not bad, but not entirely pleasant either.

Frank was surprised that he didn’t find the pain to be intolerable; instead it was a reminder of what had happened. In that way, the feeling was a lot like the injuries he sustained from serial killing.

There would be times that he would come home with angry wounds, ones that hurt like hell, but each time Frank felt the sting, he would smile – reminded of what had caused the damage.

He supposed the only true weird thing about this was that he wasn’t the one caring for his injuries this time. Gerard was surprisingly tender and gentle with Frank now, a clear contrast from the night before.

“Frank, are you listening to me?” Gerard questioned; an exasperated look on his face.

Frank turned to face him from his seat on the couch, cringing a bit when he twisted his body in a way which sent small flares of pain up his spine. He was getting used to the feeling, however, as the day progressed.

“Yeah, sorry.” Frank replied, focusing his attention on Gerard.

Gerard sighed shaking his head. “Fuck.” He mumbled into his hands. “This is bad, so fucking bad…” He continued.

“What do you mean?” Frank asked, confused. He placed his hand on Gerard’s back, rubbing lightly into the fabric of his shirt.

“You know what I mean. You’re acting all weird and distant, and I fucked up, Frank. I fucked up! I fucking never asked you for consent, I never got a safe word from you! I took advantage of you, Frank. I know you keep saying it’s ok, but…” Gerard stood from the couch, pacing the living room, his face pale.

“Whoa, whoa.” Frank said as he stood up with a grimace to walk towards Gerard. Gerard made a saddened face when he saw Frank in pain, disappointed in himself once again.

“Gerard I don’t think you get it.” Frank said, but was cut off.

“What is there to get, Frank? Fuck, I just…I tried so hard to keep that part of me in check. But, Jesus, Frank. You’re always so goddamn sure of yourself. So fucking sneaky and holy shit do you look good doing it. “ He spat.

“Do you know why I made you leave my apartment that day? Because if you hadn’t I would have fucking destroyed you, Frank. I would have fucked you on the floor, hit you and called you names until you begged me to stop. “

Frank was staring into his neighbor’s eyes, trying to keep his breath steady and his heart in his chest as he spoke.

“But I controlled myself, I made you leave. And then you just…you just fucking had to break into my home! And that was it, I snapped. I wanted to teach you a lesson…and I…I fucked up.”

Frank didn’t know what to say; he stayed silent, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Gerard was in distress, frustrated with himself and outwardly near tears.

“Gerard…” Frank tried to start, but stopped himself. He shut his eyes and let out a sigh, wrapping his arms up around Gerard’s neck, pulling him down until his forehead was pressed against his own.

Frank kissed him, softly. Just a short kiss to reassure him that no, he didn’t ‘fuck up’. Something inside of Frank was still humming with satisfaction from the night before, making his movements careful and thoughtful.

As he detached his lips from Gerard’s, he held him close to his chest. “Gerard, I’m a murderer. A cold blooded serial killer. I swear to you, that if I didn’t want everything you gave me last night, I could have snapped your neck without a second thought.”

And for some strange, sick reason, Frank saw Gerard’s eyes soften as he was comforted by Frank’s declaration.

“You’re right, you’re right. It’s just…I try so hard not to be that person.” Gerard uttered into Frank’s neck, his warm breath ghosting over Frank’s ear making him shudder.

“Besides, I really feel like the least of your worries is your moral complexity on whether it was appropriate to fuck me last night.” Frank said as he released Gerard from his arms.

“What do you mean by that?” Gerard questioned, perplexedly.

Frank shrugged. “I mean, you have a serial killer living next door to you. Doesn’t that freak you out? Even a little bit?”

Gerard thought about that for a moment, about Frank. “No. It doesn’t. I don’t think you’d hurt me Frank.” He professed. “You won’t…right?”

Frank exhaled, realization blooming in his mind. “No, Gerard. I won’t hurt you.”


	14. Chapter 14

The next few days were, in a sense, incredibly awkward.

Frank would bump into Gerard fairly regularly in the hallways, exchanging uncomfortable glances as they fumbled for their keys or towards the stairs and out of the building.

Assumedly, they were both waiting for the other to make the first move. Gerard being too embarrassed about their last interaction to say anything, and Frank being…well too much like Frank, disconnected and self-effacing.

Eventually, it was an unexpected source which made them interact again.

It was about a week later, a Friday night, when Frank saw red and blue flashing lights through the blinds covering his living room window.

Instantly, he thrashed into panic mode. He turned off the lights in his apartment; triple locked the door and prepared himself to jump through the bedroom window and down the fire escape if necessary.

He placed himself quietly next to the front door, his ear directly on the frame. Heavy footsteps made their way up the stairs, and shakily Frank got himself into position to bolt.

But, they made their way past the door and farther down the hallway. Someone’s fist was pounding on a door, Gerard’s or Mrs. Edelman’s, Frank couldn’t distinguish.

He stood up and peered through the peephole to see a tall man dressed in navy blue, a cop for sure, knocking away on Mrs. Edelman’s door.

He continued this for about five minutes before muttering something into his walkie-talkie; a few moments later, another navy-clad officer appeared with a crowbar. Within seconds, the door had been pried open and the officers disappeared inside the dark apartment.

At this point, Frank began to unlock his door, opening it to reveal Gerard poking his head out of the apartment next door, as well.

“What’s going on?” He questioned Frank. He just shrugged, unsure himself, before walking into the hallway and peering around the doorframe of the apartment across the hall.

One of the officers appeared in the doorway again, muttering something about an ambulance into his shirt which was covering the lower portion of his face, a disgusted look painted in his eyes.

“What’s happening?” Frank asked the man as he exited the apartment.

“We got a wellness check call; apparently she hadn’t been seen in a week or two.” The officer mumbled through the fabric.

The smell was starting to waft out into the hallway now, making Frank cringe and cover his nose, the recognition of decomposition flooding his nostrils.

As the officers disappeared back down the stairs, closing the door behind them, Frank turned to Gerard with realization.

“I don’t remember seeing her last Sunday.” He sighed. “I always see her coming back from church on Sunday.”

Gerard placed a tentative hand on Frank’s shoulder.

“I was with you all day, and I didn’t see her.” Frank groaned. “Fuck, I wonder how long she’s been dead for.”

Gerard made a sympathetic face and motioned for Frank to come in the apartment. Frank complied easily, too dismayed to protest.

“Coffee?” Gerard asked as Frank took a seat on the sofa, pushing papers and comics out of the way to create a space. “Yeah, sure.” He replied.

Gerard poured two cups and carried them over, cream and sugar under his arm. Frank shook his head when he offered them to Frank. “Black is fine, thanks.”

Gerard laughed. “See now, _that’s_ scary.” Frank chuckled beside himself. “You can handle me being a murderer but not drinking my coffee black?”

Gerard shrugged. “I’m an enigma, what can I say?”

Frank seemed to agree, nodding as he took a sip of his coffee. “Well I guess it’s just you and me on the floor for a while.”

Gerard made a humming noise. “Guess so.”

“So, uh…” Frank tried to break the awkward silence. “How, uh, has your week been?”

Gerard smiled. “It was okay; I had a few projects to keep me busy. Yourself?”

“Fine.” Frank nodded. “What projects? Actually, I don’t even know what you do for work. Do you work? You seem to leave at weird hours.”

“You spying on me, Frank?” Gerard ridiculed.

Frank laughed and shook his head. “No, no. Just observant, is all.”

“Mmmhm…” Gerard examined Frank before continuing “I’m an artist, I do commissions.”

“Is that why this place is always such a mess?” Frank questioned sardonically. Gerard tapped him on the shoulder in offense.

“It’s in ‘creative disarray’ thank you very much.” Gerard declared with a glare. “Besides, I’ve never even seen your place, who’re you to judge?

“Whatever you say, Gerard.” Frank surrendered.

Gerard seemed to latch on to Frank’s words just there, shifting his body just a bit closer so that he could lower his voice. “That’s right, Frank. And don’t you fucking forget it.” He uttered, sending a familiar chill down Frank’s spine that he hadn’t felt since last weekend.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. Shit's been weird.

Frank went home that night…confused.  
Gerard hadn’t asked him to stay; Frank didn’t expect him to anyway, but he couldn’t help but notice how everything Gerard did seemed so positively _amatory_ and Frank was sure he was doing it on purpose.

Frank had simply stayed for idle chit-chat and coffee, nothing more, and somewhere in Frank’s psyche he thought that maybe he was a little disappointed.

It struck him as odd, though, how unruffled Gerard was about the whole _’serial killer next door neighbor’_ thing.

He figured he should feel uncomfortable with that, probably suspicious, but Frank didn’t have the time to deep dive into the inner machinations of Gerard’s mind right now.

The EMT’s were just leaving the building when Frank crossed the short distance between his and Gerard’s apartments, a stretcher covered with a black body bag that, for whatever reason, made Frank cringe just a bit.

It was sad, really, knowing that Mrs. Edelman wouldn’t be around to shout a very hard of hearing ‘hello’ to him on Sunday afternoons.

She never treated Frank like a degenerate, even if he could see her eyeing his tattoos questioningly when they crossed paths.

Most people did treat Frank that way, and he supposed that’s why he became one. If you tell a kid that they’re garbage enough times, they start to become garbage. That’s like, nature or something, Frank figured.

And so now Frank was serpentine and he encompassed it, strutting the sidewalk with an undeserved sense of accomplishment and pride that inside his soul, he knew was fake.

But what was he to do? Embrace the fact that he was worthless? That he was nothing? Insignificant?

Get a ‘straight’ job? Work 40 hours a week, hating his life and pressing the barrel of a shotgun under his chin on weekends just for the rush?

Slit his wrists because he knew that nothing he ever did in his miserable life would ever be remembered? Would ever be worth anything?

**No. Fuck that.**

**I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. Not you. Not them. Fucking no one.**

****  
**You can sit there and judge me, like you’re better. But you’re not. They’re not. I’m not useless, I have purpose.**

****  
**Just…Jesus, fuck!**

****  
**It gets so god damn hard, you know? Fucking pretending.**

****  
**Pretending to always be normal. Pretending that I’m not constantly exhausted. That I’m not hiding something huge.**

****  
**It’s tiring, and no one will ever understand. No one ever did recognize me, and they definitely won’t now.**

****  
**But fuck that. I don’t care; as long as I know what I’m doing is right. And it fucking is, no matter what.**

As exhausted as Frank was, and he seemed to always be exhausted, he didn’t sleep that night. 

Not a wink, not a moment. He didn’t sleep. He wondered if he would ever sleep again. 

****


	16. Chapter 16

The next three days drug on for Frank, both figuratively and literally.

Frank kept his head clear of mind-altering substances nearly all of the time these days, but the cough medicine he was downing for the throbbing in his throat was an obvious exception.

The dust that billowed up from the ground and found its way into Frank’s sinus cavity was making everything worse, for starters, and the pain behind his eyes every time he moved his head too quickly was becoming more and more irritating as time went on.

The hammering of the ground beneath his feet coupled with the thrashing sound of jackhammers made Frank want to gouge his eardrums right out of his skull.

There was no denying it; Frank was sick.

Not that it was entirely unusual; he had gotten sick as a child quite often, he suffered from a ‘feckless immune system’ his mother had said.

Frank just thought he was cursed or something.

“Dude, you look like shit.” Bob slapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to send Frank stumbling forward a bit. His energy was just about nonexistent at this point. “Whoa, fuck, sorry.” Bob scrambled and grabbed Frank’s arm.

He shook his head and tried to clear the fog from his eyes. “No, it’s cool. Just a little sick is all.”

“A little sick…” Bob drawled, widening his eyes. “You’re paler than a baby seahorse.”

Frank cocked his head at his boss before chuckling. “Nice one.”

Bob nodded, pleased with himself before continuing. “Go home Frank.”

And so Frank did, he went home and passed out on the couch before he could even get his shoes off.

He woke up uncomfortable, a crick in his neck, about two hours later. He reached for the still open bottle of cough syrup, only to find it empty.

 _’oh, fuck me.’_ he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and clearing his scratchy throat.

A quick check of the time on his phone and he had about twenty minutes to get to the pharmacy to pick up more, and if he wanted to get through the night with any sort of peaceful sleep, he would definitely need more.

He had just about made it through his door before he ran; face first, into Gerard again. Running into him as such seemed to be a pretty regular occurrence these days; Frank wondered why he never could hear Gerard walking the floor before running straight into him.

He probably just wasn’t paying attention.

“Shit sorry.” Gerard lurched backward when he saw Frank’s sullen face. “Jesus, Frank!”

Frank coughed in response, too tired to respond without hacking up a lung.

“You look fucking awful. Where are you going?” Gerard probed, putting a hand on Frank’s clammy forehead to check for fever.

“Cough medicine. Ran out.” Frank shrugged.

“I can get you some. Come on; let’s get you back in your apartment.” Gerard put a hand on Frank’s back and led him back towards the door, unlocking it with the key in Frank’s loose grip, and guiding him in easily.

“Couch?” Gerard questioned and Frank nodded. Gerard helped him be seated down onto the couch and then lie on his side, head propped up on the arm rest. Frank sighed unhappily, exhaling through his mouth for inability to do so through his stuffed nose.

“I’ll run to the pharmacy and be right back, ok?” Gerard declared, but he was nearly out the door before Frank could nod weekly in his direction.

When he returned, Frank was asleep again, mouth hanging open in an attempt at being able to breathe sufficiently. Gerard cocked a smile in his direction, setting the bag down on the coffee table. A quick press of his palm to Frank’s sweaty forehead told him that he was still feverish.

Gerard quietly pulled the contents of the bag out and set them on the coffee table before setting off in search of Frank’s room.

If he was going to stay the night keeping watch over an ill neighbor, he might as well make himself at home.


	17. Chapter 17

Frank opened his eyes, greeted by the glare of the sun on his face. It felt unnaturally warm, almost as if he was actually outside. A quick review of his surroundings revealed that no, he wasn’t outside lying in the sunlight, he was in his bed.

But, he couldn’t exactly remember how he got there. He was wrapped warmly in blankets, comfortably swaddled with one of the best sleeps he had had in a while; but he couldn’t figure out how....

Or how the shade that he _always_ kept closed was opened.

His shoes were off. He didn’t remember taking them off.

The clock said it was 10:14AM, but Frank didn’t remember taking anymore medicine and he certainly didn’t remember waking up in a coughing fit.

Speaking of…his throat felt…fairly normal. Peculiar.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and got out of the bed making his way towards the hall, pulling the shade on his window down in the process. He was searching for Gerard, the last thing…well, Person, he remembered from the night before.

The unfamiliar lump on his couch was the first thing that caught his attention when he entered the living room, though it didn’t entirely surprise him.

“Gerard?” Frank shook the unmoving pile of blankets lightly and was received with a groan.

Gerard adjusted his eyes and rolled over to look at Frank. “How are you feeling?” he questioned almost instantly, sitting up from the couch.

“Uh…a lot better actually.” Frank said contemplatively. “You stayed here?”

Gerard nodded sleepily, finished with a sneeze. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Shit, I think you may have caught it…” Frank replied sadly, sitting next to the still sleep weary Gerard.

Gerard just shrugged. “That’s alright.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, both adjusting to being awake before Frank pondered something. “How did I get in bed? I don’t remember waking up.” He looked at Gerard.

His face flushed and he shrugged again, seemingly his response to everything. “I carried you.” Frank made a disbelieving face, confusion evident in his eyes. You carried _me_?”

Gerard laughed, loud and boisterous. “You’re not that heavy, shorty.”

Frank slapped his arm lightly. “Well thank you anyway.” He sighed. “Are you hungry?” Gerard nodded and yawned. “I am, actually.”

“Wanna, I don’t know, go get breakfast with me or something?” Frank asked, admittedly a little nervous that Gerard would shoot him down. He toyed his fingers together.

It was just breakfast; Frank didn’t mean anything by it.

Well, ok, maybe he did.

“Yeah. I’d like that, Frank. I’ll go home and change and meet you back here?” Gerard said, pulling the blanket from his lap.

“Ok then.” Frank said with a giddy smile that he hadn’t meant to flash at all.


	18. Chapter 18

When Gerard returned, Frank was waiting for him in the hallway, perched up against his apartment door, keys in hand. “I thought we’d walk over to Starbucks or something. Is that ok?”

“Sure, that’s fine.” Gerard replied happily, following Frank down the stairs with quiet footsteps.

“When you were moving in it sounded like a herd of horses, now I can hardly hear when you’re walking around.” Frank joked with a shake of his head. “I hope you didn’t take what I said to heart.”

Gerard laughed, holding the door open for Frank to walk through outside. “You probably heard my brother, Mikey. He’s heavy footed.”

“Ah.” Frank replied simply. “He doesn’t come around much?”

Gerard shook his head “No, he’s usually tied up with work.”

“That sucks.” Frank sighed. “You know, I don’t know much about you, Gerard.”

There was a tense silence in the air that hung between them for a half of a block, the sun shining brightly on them making Frank squint every time he looked up at Gerard.

“Well. What do you want to know?” Gerard questioned eventually.

Frank shrugged “I don’t know. Everything, I guess.”

Gerard exhaled audibly, reaching for the door of the coffee shop and again holding it for Frank.

“Why don’t you get a table? I’ll get us some coffee.” Gerard said, pointing towards a secluded booth in the back. Frank nodded with a nervous smile.

_”Fuck”_ Gerard groaned to himself.

 

 

Gerard returned with two hot coffees, one black for Frank, and various pastries. It would be a while, so Gerard figured to get a few of everything.

“I have one brother.” Gerard started instantly, hands folded neatly in front of him. He watched Frank drink his coffee with careful attentiveness to Gerard’s words. This would be difficult.

“I’m twenty eight. My parents are deceased. I moved here to do art commissions.” Gerard continued uncomfortably.

Frank nodded unremittingly, listening to Gerard talk about what he was like in high school, and how he got into art. Gerard seemed to loosen up as he conversed, easing into careful banter about their likes and dislikes.

It was the first time the neighbors had any type of real conversation since they met, and it was surprisingly nice. Not filled with unceremonious burglary or tantric sex, though Frank would be lying if he said he would mind the latter.

“Hey thanks again for staying last night, Gerard. I feel…god I feel like I wasn’t even sick.” Frank said as they walked home, he made a point of inhaling through his nose, freely and without sputtering cough after.

“It’s no problem, Frank.” Gerard smiled. “If it’s not too forward, I’d like to take you out sometime.” He continued.

Frank stopped at the door to their building, considering Gerard’s offer. “Listen, Gerard…” Frank sighed. “I like you. I really _really_ like you.” Frank cocked an unsure frown. “I’m not very good with relationships. You know, being…what I am.”

Gerard didn’t spare a moment before laughing boisterously. He placed a hand on Frank shoulder and led him back into the building, up the stairs and out front of their respective doors. “Trust me, Frank. Neither am I. I’ll pick you up at eight on Friday, ok?”

Frank sputtered out an unsure “O-ok.” As Gerard smirked and disappeared into his apartment leaving Frank blushing on his doorstep.

**I’m getting too fucking soft.**

He slammed the door behind him.

 

 

Later that night, in between wistless thoughts of the cute neighbor boy, Frank’s mind was plagued by something Gerard said that just didn’t make sense.

_"I’m twenty eight."_ he had said.

But, based on Frank’s research, Gerard graduated high school a full five years before Frank. That would make Gerard at least thirty two, not twenty eight.

Maybe Frank got the dates wrong, maybe it was a typographical error. Or maybe, Gerard was lying.

Maybe.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, but prolific chapter.

Friday approached quickly, and as such Frank’s uneasiness grew. He scoured the internet again to settle his suspicions, and it turns out that Frank was right, as he usually was; Gerard should be at least 32.

It was peculiar, that he couldn’t find much information on him. No birthday, no recent address, no recent record of job history or traffic tickets in the last five years.

So maybe Gerard was lying about his age. He certainly didn’t look a day over 30, but in reality the gap wasn’t entirely large, so why lie about it?

Five years? It seems so trivial.

Maybe Gerard was a pathological liar, maybe he was an FBI agent sent to gather information on Frank.

Oh fuck, oh fuck. Frank was pulling at his hair in frustration.

How could he be so naïve? So guileless? Gerard didn’t _like_ him, he was _investigating_ him.

Frank was pacing again, drilling a permanent track in the carpet where his footsteps landed.

**It would fucking figure.**

****  
**The one person. The only fucking person I’ve ever told, the only person I’ve ever _liked_ would turn out to be a liar, some type of government worker; probably both.**

****  
**So what do I do?**

****  
**What the fuck do I do?**

****  
Frank continued to pace nervously before there was a knock on the door; undoubtedly Gerard.

He let out a sigh, slowly walking towards what would be either be his own or Gerard’s impending demise. God, he liked him, he really _really_ did.

But, that didn’t matter now.

Frank let his hand rest on the doorknob for a moment, eyes shut tight and a lump in his throat when Gerard knocked again.

**You know I’m going to have to kill him, right?**


	20. Chapter 20

“You’re awfully quiet tonight.” Gerard said with a smile.

They were seated across from each other at some swanky restaurant on the west end, dim candles lighting the delicate shadows of Gerard’s face.

God he really did look beautiful. The way his jawbone was highlighted with shades of amber, his eyes glowing a bright hazel flickered with red, his messy black hair falling in his face ever so slightly.

“Sorry.” Frank mumbled uncomfortably. Gerard made a displeased face, resting his chin in his left hand, elbow on table and right arm outstretching towards Frank, palm up.

“Is everything alright?” He questioned with what seemed like genuine concern.

Frank sighed followed with a momentary pause. “It will be.”

Gerard made a face, his eyes squinting in Frank’s direction. For a moment, Frank could swear he saw a flash of red pass Gerard’s eyes, but as quickly it came, it was gone.

In the end Gerard only nodded, pulling his outstretched arm back towards him when Frank refused to return his grasp.

 

 

Frank barely ate.

It was uncomfortable, to say the least, to feel so uneasy before having to commit a murder whereas normally Frank was calm and collected.

Obviously, this one was different.

Gerard had been eyeing him uneasily all night long, peering at him through long eyelashes, and not in an endearing way as one would expect from a date.

Frank recognized him out of the corner of his eye, his piercing gaze making Frank grow more tremulous with each passing moment shared between them.

“I’m sorry if your food wasn’t good.” Gerard said with what sounded like a hint of sadness in his voice. Frank assumed him to be a very good actor.

“No, it was lovely. I just wasn’t as hungry as I thought.” Frank lied.

Gerard shrugged, outwardly disappointed.

Well, he was good at faking it anyway.

“Do you, um, want to take a walk with me? Over there?” Frank questioned nervously as they left the restaurant. He pointed in the direction of the secluded woods, a long hiking trail Frank recognized from pursuing his most recent victim.

Gerard seemed to perk up a bit at that, a hesitant smile adorning his face. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” He placed a hand on the small of Frank’s back, his fingers rubbing circles through the fabric of Frank’s shirt.

Frank trembled, his skin tingling with agitation. His hands were shaking; the lump in his throat was growing with every step they took away from the brightly lit restaurant and onto the secluded hiking trail in front of them.

They walked wordlessly for what seemed like an endless amount of time; Gerard holding Frank near his side, what he surely thought was a comfortable silence was actually a turbulent and painful walk towards the first murder Frank didn’t want to commit.

As they reached the middle of the trail Frank shuddered, realization blooming as he neared the point of no return.

“Are you cold?” Gerard questioned, removing his hand from Frank’s waist. Frank nodded, words failing him, and Gerard smiled.

Gerard began to remove his sweater as Frank pressed a shaky hand in his pocket, damp fingers gripping the handle of his switchblade.

Gerard turned to him, sweater now removed, and he walked towards Frank. He stepped in front of him, so near Frank could feel the heat radiating from his body. Gingerly, Gerard wrapped the sweater around Frank’s back and pulled him close.

Closer, closer, until their noses were only just touching.

Surrounded by the quiet wind only, Frank whimpered, genuinely sorry for the first time in his life.

Gerard opened his mouth to question what was wrong but was cut off as Frank pulled the knife from his pocket and plunged it into Gerard’s abdomen without a moment of hesitation.

Gerard looked shocked, the color draining from his face almost instantaneously as he glanced down and saw the knife lodged in his stomach, only the handle visible in the darkness of the night.

He dropped to his knees, the hurt – betrayal, on his face crushing every part of Frank’s soul.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Gerard…” Frank wailed through gritted teeth and tearful eyes; watching him on hands and knees struggling for breath.

Gerard’s hands reached shakily for the blade, still no words being spoken, and Frank now too dropped to his knees, hands covering his eyes.

“Please forgive me…I…I had to…” He cried.

Gerard grasped the handle, pulling it none too gently from the wound with a sticky sound, blood oozing from the laceration once removed.

“Why, Frank?” Gerard grilled, dropping the blade next to him on the muddy trail.

“You…you can’t turn me in. I know you must work for the government…you…you don’t like me at all, you’re using me!” Frank shook his head, pleading internally for this to finally be over.

Gerard began to whisper, calmly, as his hands roamed his abdomen feeling for the wound.

Frank closed bloodshot eyes as the gore on his neighbors hands and clothes began to dry and flake away, dissolving into the air soundlessly.

Gerard continued whispering, something Frank couldn’t make out through his sobbing.

 _“O kuly pél engem. Molodak ot ainaja komakamal. O pus wäkenkek, ot oma śarnank, és ot pus fünk, álnak ekäm ainajanak, pitänak ekäm ainajanak elävä.”_ Gerard continued to chant.

Frank stumbled forward, head still in his hands as he heard Gerard silence, assuming death had finally come for him.

Slowly, he lifted himself expecting none other than Gerard’s lifeless form to be lying in front of him.

But, he was kneeling, the color in his face returned, eyebrows furrowed and eyes overflowing with confusion, in front of Frank, no wound to be seen.

No blood.

No gash.

“H…how? I killed you! I heard you die!” Frank shouted, jaw clenched tightly.

“We have much to talk about, Frank. Take my hand.”

Unsurprisingly, Frank didn’t take Gerard’s hand, and instead passed out cold on the humid grass.


	21. Chapter 21

Frank awoke in a cold sweat, beads of dampness rolling down his temples and past his still shut eyes, hair matted to his forehead.

He was too terrified to open his eyes. That’s if he even could, for all he knew he was dead and lying in purgatory somewhere.

He didn’t want to face that, not yet, not ever.

The last thing he could remember was plunging his switchblade through Gerard’s abdomen. Vaguely, he remembered shouting, the look of hurt in Gerard’s eyes, and…then being carried.

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes to pitch blackness. As hard as he tried to squint and adjust his vision, he couldn’t make anything out other than complete darkness.

Underneath him he felt soft blankets, a pillow underneath his head. He was undoubtedly lying on a bed somewhere.

He didn’t think purgatory would be likely to have beds.

“You’re awake.”

Frank shot up into a sitting position, his head spinning from the sudden movement. “Gerard?”

Gerard flicked on a lamp on the bedside table making Frank squint at the brightness. He hummed absently, sitting in front Frank on the bed and running his hand across Frank’s temple to wipe away the sweat.

Frank stayed in a stunned silence, allowing Gerard to touch him for fear of what would happen should he protest.

“I…you died.” He stuttered.

Gerard shook his head, hand still roaming Frank’s head and neck, pushing his hair gently behind his ears. “Almost. I almost died.”

“No, no, no…” Frank uttered to himself squeezing his eyes shut. “What the fuck is going on? I have to be dreaming. I’m fucking dreaming right now.”

“Shhh.” Gerard cooed, pulling Frank close to his chest. He hugged him tightly, quietly rocking him side to side in a coddling gesture. “You’re in shock.”

Frank pulled away instantly, his brain finally making the connection that something was extremely wrong. He pushed Gerard a way with a hard shove sending him backwards on the bed.

“No! I’m not in shock, Gerard! What is going on? Am I dead? Is this a hallucination?!” He shrieked.

“I need you to calm down before I tell you, Frank.” Gerard sighed rubbing at the shoulder Frank harshly shoved.

Frank took a deep breath in and exhaled audibly, nodding his head to signal that he would remain calm. “Ok. Just…please…tell me what’s going on.”

Gerard eyed him cautiously. “I need you to know something first, Frank.”

Frank examined curiously but remained silent allowing Gerard to continue.

“I like you Frank. I really like you, and despite…all of this, I hope you still like me.” Gerard sighed. “Tell me what you know about the bible, Frank.”

Frank seemed surprised, confusion passing in his eyes as he shrugged. “Not much other than, you know, being gay is a sin, don’t murder people, don’t eat shellfish…” Frank trailed on “pretty much the handbook on how to be the exact opposite of me.” He frowned.

Gerard smiled. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Have you ever heard of the Wisdom of Solomon?” He questioned.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“The Wisdom of Solomon is a Jewish book written during the first century. In this book, it is told that Satan declared _’The Suffering of the righteous will be rewarded with immortality, while the wicked will end miserably.’_ ”

“There have been many descriptions of Him throughout history, but the Book of Wisdom was the only true and accurate adaptation. The Wisdom of Solomon described Him as the bringer of death, and that is true.”

“Him?” Frank probed.

“Yes, Frank, Him. Satan.”

“What does Satan have to do with anything?” Frank asked through a grimace.

“He plays a very important role in our mortality. Satan is not, and was not the evil character depicted in the bible. Simply, he is the bringer of death. He created death and unleashed it unto the world, and that is not a bad thing.”

“Simply, before Satan’s existence souls were immortal. Obviously, with the introduction of sin, there were people who were evil and abhorrent, and God needed someone to terminate these rogue souls.”

“…and that person is Satan…” Frank deadpanned. He laid his head into his hands and groaned. “Ok, great. God is real, Satan isn’t evil. Fantastic. What the fuck does that have to do with me?”

“Don’t you see, Frank? It has everything to do with you! You terminate evil souls; you kill those that deserve to be killed. You have been following in His footsteps for years without even realizing it. You are a prodigy, an asset to this world.”

“But I thought Satan created sin?” Frank asked.

“No, that is a misconception. Sin is an entirely human creation.” Gerard shifted on the bed, crossing his legs and leaning forward to pull Franks hand into his.

“Frank I was sent here because you are a gift from God doing the Devil’s crimes, and we need your help.”


	22. Chapter 22

“This still isn’t making sense to me Gerard…what does that make you? Are you even human?” Frank questioned with disbelief. He had made Gerard explain it to him three more times, elaborating on the fact that despite Frank’s surety that God and the Devil were complete falsities, they were indeed very real.

“Well…I was.” Gerard lowered “When I died, I was given a position in Perdition.”

“You didn’t go to heaven?”

“No. Not everyone goes to heaven, no matter how many times they’ve confessed their sins. Your entire life is taken into account at your death, everything you’ve ever done no matter how many Hail Mary’s you say.”

Frank glowered. “What did you do? I mean, for you to not get into Heaven?”

“Heaven isn’t the be all end all, Frank. Hell is not the netherworld of flames like it’s portrayed in stories. Good people go to Hell. Strong people. People who still have purpose, people who still have life to live. Those who go to Heaven are granted immortality in paradise. Honestly, Hell is a lot like life…you just…go on.” Gerard shrugged as if it was so simple.

“People in Hell sometimes go to Heaven once their purpose is fulfilled, you know. You’re not in Hell forever. Not usually.”

Frank balled his hands into fists, his fingers digging angrily into his palms with frustration. “This is so fucked. Everything I thought I knew…it’s all fucking wrong.”

Gerard made a sympathetic face at Frank whose appearance had long gone pale.

“Ok, I guess. But, you still didn’t tell me what that makes you?” Frank questioned still.

Gerard shrugged. “I’m like you. I have flesh and bones, emotions and insecurities. I have a heart, a literal and a metaphorical one. Technically, I’m a demon, though.”

Frank shifted uncomfortably, crossing and uncrossing his legs. “But, what does that mean? Do you have superpowers or some shit?”

Gerard laughed. “Superpowers? Not really. I can heal people, though, as well as myself. I can teleport between the underworld and Earth. I can see into the underworld and communicate with other demons telepathically.”

Frank looked at Gerard in reverence. “Can you fly?”

Gerard cackled again. “No, I can’t fly.”

“Sounds like superpowers to me.” Frank shrugged a shoulder, his hands still fidgeting in front of him. “So…how old are you?”

“I died just before my 29th birthday, so that’s how old I’ll be forever. I would have been 32 last month though.” Gerard replied with an air of sadness in his voice.

That finally seemed to make sense to Frank, a beam of truthfulness that Frank could verify. It validated the honesty in Gerard’s story, finally, something Frank could confirm for himself.

“One last thing...” Frank questioned. “How did you die?”

Gerard’s normally garrulous temperament seemed to shift as he bit his lip, searching for the words. Frank watched him inquisitively, taking note of the movements he made, how his hands roamed underneath his sweater and rubbed at his wrists.

“Sorry…I didn’t mean to bother you, I was just curious.” Frank backtracked.

Gerard shook his head. “It’s ok. But, maybe another time.”

Frank nodded with understanding. “I’m sorry I stabbed you…” He said quietly with red cheeks.

“That hurt, motherfucker.” Gerard smirked. “I’m sorry, too. For not telling you sooner; for bringing you into all of this. For everything.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for it’s just…a lot to handle, you know? I mean, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do now. What kind of help could I possibly be able to give?” Frank sighed and Gerard placed a hand on his knee.

“We’ll get to that. But, for right now you should probably sleep.” Gerard gestured to the side of the bed that Frank had been passed out on.

“Yeah, I guess…” Frank averted his eyes to his lap, fingers lacing together. “What about you? Aren’t you tired?”

“I don’t really get _tired_.” Gerard shrugged.

“Oh.”

Gerard eyed him for a few moments before crawling up the bed, sitting next to Frank, arms outstretched towards him. “Sleeping next to someone is still nice, though.”

Frank stilled for a moment before shifting back into Gerard’s arms.

Gerard pulled Frank close to his chest, his arms wrapping around his warm waist, face nestled tightly into his hair.

“Goodnight, Frank.” He whispered, but Frank was already asleep.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long and that it is so short. The end of the month is insanely busy for me at work and aside from my regular 40 hours, I typically put in about 10 hours of overtime per week from the 20th of the month until the end. 
> 
> More of this is coming however, as I wrap up the craziness as work. Just hold on until July. Thank you for sticking with me. :)

Frank awoke with Gerard’s arms still wrapped firmly around his waist, his fingers holding lightly on to the hem of Frank’s shirt.

It was a nice feeling, a different feeling. He replayed the previous day’s events in his head hastily over, internally sighing with the overabundance of unanswered questions that still remained there.

**It makes sense. I guess.**  
  
**I can’t imagine a regular person being totally okay with living next door to a murderer.**

****  
**I mean, I’m willing to believe _almost_ anything, I just never imagined that God and Satan were anything more than myths.**

****  
**Everything else seems so arbitrary in the long run then, if you’re just going to end up in Hell or purgatory anyway.**

****  
**Well, most likely. Heaven is probably only for priests or something. You know, the ones that _didn’t_ diddle the altar boys.**

****  
**But , still, he doesn’t seem like a demonic creature. He seems…normal. A little different I guess, but otherwise…ordinary. Well, ok, so he’s _weird_ but not anymore than any normal person**

“Frank?” Gerard stirred, lethargy showing in his voice. “You’re awake.”

Frank nodded lowly, stretching his limbs as he sat up. “What time is it?”

Gerard rolled over a bit, checking the clock next to his bed “Uh, just after noon.”

“It’s at least still Saturday, right?” Frank grated, rubbing at his eyes. It had felt like days had passed since Friday night.

Gerard chuckled in response. “It is indeed. How are you feeling?”

Frank cracked his neck, head bobbing side to side. He exhaled audibly, pushing his hands out in front of them, the muscles in his shoulder blades on display through his shirt as he stretched. “Fine. I think."

Gerard made a sympathetic face at him. “That’s to be expected I suppose.”

“Is it?” Frank questioned.

“Well, I just mean that it’s still a lot to grip, and I expect you to be confused for a while.” Gerard responded casually.

Frank considered that for a few moments, swinging his legs around the bed and standing with a crack of his back.

“I’m not confused, just…taking it all in.”

Gerard hummed in agreement, copying Frank’s motions and standing from the bed.

“So…I have the day free. If you’re interested, I mean.” Gerard declared with hesitation as he pulled on a pair of jeans.  
Frank was surprised by that, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. “You want to hang out with me?”

Gerard shrugged, a tentative smile on his face.

“Gerard…I tried to kill you. I probably would have killed you had you not…done whatever it is that you _did_ to save yourself.” Frank replied with a cringe, his hands fumbling into his pants pockets for the switchblade that wasn’t there.

“And I didn’t tell you I was a hell –dwelling demon.” Gerard shrugged again. “Consider us even.”

Frank simpered. “This is going to take time getting used to.”

“Believe it or not, Frankie, I have all the time in the world. “


End file.
